This Is Not A Love Story
by leilamiranda
Summary: Santana Lopez is a high-maintenance girl. Brittany Pierce is an outgoing, go-with-the-flow type of girl. They can never be more different from each other. They say opposites attract. But then again, they say opposites clash, as well.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I apologize to those who are waiting for an update for my other fic, **Living With Mrs Pierce**. I got really busy last week and now, got sidetracked by this little bugger. Fingers-crossed, I could keep my word to **Vsaint **and give you guys a longer update. Except, I just now realized it's literally a pain in the ass writing 10 pages in one sitting.

...

* * *

Title: **This is Not a Love Story**

Pairing: Brittany / Santana

Rating: T

Summary: Santana Lopez is a high-maintenance girl. Brittany Pierce is an outgoing, go-with-the-flow type of girl. They can never be more different from each other. They say opposites attract. But then again, they say opposites clash, as well.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. Thank heavens.

* * *

"Hi, I'm Brittany."

Santana Lopez looked perplexedly at the pale hand that was suddenly shoved towards her face, almost spilling her drink in the process. She need not look at the face of the rude girl who interrupted her mid-drink of her favourite glass of cosmopolitan. The girl was wearing a vintage shirt for heaven's sake—I mean, who still wears vintage shirts these days? She's really not interested in looking at the rest of the merchandise.

So like she had done to the dozens of guys and girls who had the guts to come up to her before, Santana Lopez merely resumed sipping her drink and tuned back to whatever gossip her posse were currently engrossed on.

They _always_ take a hint. Eventually.

Santana is born Santana Angelita Lopez. Kurt is convinced her name literally means "the fallen angel" or Satan, for short. Her father, on the other hand, thinks she's still his sweet little angel, refusing to call her anything other than "_mi_ Angelita _corazon_" no matter how much begging and bribing she did.

Being the only child to Ohio's richest power couple, she was born to a life of luxury, getting everything she ever wanted with just a small pout and a light whiff of her nose by a doting—and dare she say, whipped—father. Her mother, unfortunately, doesn't share the same sentiments and views on parenting with her father.

Her mother, Evita,

(Yes, it's laughable but sue her. It was part of their heritage naming children after someone famous. Santana's just glad she wasn't named Jennifer. Or Mario.)

made it her own mission pointing out each and every criticism she had on her. It was even like fighting tooth and nail getting any form of approval out of that woman. And even then, it always _has_ to be followed by the inevitable "but."

"_That's nice, honey. __**But**__, it would have been even better if you got the part of Maria."_

"_Oh, that outfit is lovely. __**But**__, does it have to be so tight around those areas?"_

"_Santana, dear, it's nice that you chose to stay at home on your semester break. __**But**__, do you have to be_ _**at home**_ _all the time during?"_

So here Santana was, at a high-end bar in Columbus—or at least, high-end by Ohio-standards—silently contemplating whether or not she made the right decision of ringing her friends over to share in her misery and boredom—or rather, sharing a table, with her still in her own misery and boredom and them excitedly gossiping about the latest fashions, Hollywood stars, and the huge parties they are missing in New York.

She had a love-hate relationship with each and every one of them. Rachel would later confide in her in a sudden surge of drunken wisdom that the reason why Santana's relationships never worked out was because Santana can't form any kind of relationship with anyone who can't challenge her physically, mentally, and emotionally. Santana, on the other hand, in the same state of drunkenness would only find it hilarious to boop everyone's nose. Then cry pitifully over a melting ice on the floor she, herself, had thrown there.

Quinn is her longest friend in the group. They practically grew up together, fighting over everything from toys, to boys, to the Cheerio captaincy, to Prom Queen, and to the ultimate title of HBIC. The answer of who won, however, would depend on who you ask as both are insisting that they were the HBIC. They've became more mellow now in college, even considering each other best of friends.

Except if some fool mistakenly mention "high school" and all hell would surely break loose.

Mercedes is Santana's home girl. But before that, Santana used to put different things—from strips of paper to felt-tip coloured pen—in Cedes' food. When Mercedes eventually caught on to her and confronted her about it, Santana simply shrugged telling her she was just genuinely curious whether rhinos really eat everything their huge snouts could reach.

It goes without saying, but Santana landed on her father's hospital that day, whining about how nobody likes her even when she was just telling the _truth._ Her father, Carlos, merely nodded and listened closely to his little angel's morphine-induced ramblings, doing everything to try and understand how her daughter's mind works.

And it also goes without saying, but Carlos failed. Miserably.

Kurt is the fag to Mercedes' hag. Sweet, gentle, obnoxiously well-dressed and prim and proper Porcelain. He believes in fairy tales, and romance, and drama, and _c'est la vie_ and all that jazz. Santana believes in disagreeing to everything he says just to see the grown man cry better than a little girl. The only time Santana stops the timer in her purse she uses to beat her record in making Kurt cry was whenever they talk about fashion. And she won't admit it but she does enjoy it whenever Kurt flails over her fashion choices—at least, someone does.

Mike is the only odd-duck in the group. She's not entirely sure how she became friends with him. He's shy, quiet, nice, well-mannered, soft-spoken, clean-looking and smelling. In short, _boring_. She did remember a time when she had thrown insults after insults at him. But then, he would just smile this irritatingly sweet genuine smile and at some point, she just got tired.

It's not that fun when the other person isn't cowering.

He does come in handy though when a past fling or a persistent suitor comes up to her and she would just crawl into his lap and nuzzle to his neck until they leave. She can't do the same move with Quinn and Mercedes because those bitches would just call her out on it. Kurt and Rachel are simply out of the question, because come on, the first one is "girlier" than her and the other one can never_, ever_ get a girl like her, even hypothetically—ever.

So yeah, Mike is not _that_ boring, after all. He's. Okay.

And that comple- -

Oh, and then there's Rachel.

And that completes Santana's list of friends. And acquaintances. Although, she was always reminded how lucky she was that they haven't gotten enough good sense yet to leave the abusive, almost one-sided relationship they got going on that they call friendship. Santana just waves it off as them being funny in that distastefully unfunny way they call humour.

I mean, who wouldn't want to be with "the" Santana Lopez?

One word: hot.

Another word: rich.

And yet another word that should be enough for people to want to be with her: _San-tana_.

Santana sighed as she spins the now empty glass between her thumb and middle finger. She glanced at her friends who were still laughing and unaware of her inner turmoil.

She sighed louder and clinked her glass loudly to a half-empty bottle of wine near her, almost shattering the glass. But it finally got their attention—rightfully so—back to her.

Quinn eyed her suspiciously, debating on whether or not to ask the question. But she knew better than making this drama longer than it had to or yet another tantrum would be thrown and they can't afford that in public especially when they're not yet drunk. "What is it, Santana?"

"Excuse me?" Santana feigned innocence as if it was never her intention to draw attention to her.

Kurt rolled his eyes knowing full well how this goes but continued the gentle prodding. "What's bothering you, sweetie?"

Santana sighed heavily again, putting all her weight into it and adjusted herself in her seat, crossing her legs to get more comfortable and giving everyone a generous view of her legs—she may be down but she has to at least look hot while being down. "Well, if you _insist_ on knowing," which earned her a unanimous silent groan from her crowd "it's just… it's hard to be _me_…"

"And you say, _I'm_ the drama queen." She heard Rachel grumble but chose to ignore her.

"I mean, I'm the hottest person I know, I'm filthy rich, I am crazy good in bed, I'm _nice_," the last one especially made everyone whisper their own protests. "Why can't I find a nice girl who would love me for _me_ and treat _me_ like a queen and give _me_ everything I want? Is that so much to ask?"

It was Quinn's turn to sigh, massaging her temples with her fingers. She'd probably need a pill soon for the massive headache she suddenly acquired. "Santana, you had the most number of admirers in this club alone but you turned each and every one of them down."

"Yeah well, it's not my fault they're all losers." Santana shrugged nonchalantly.

Quinn looked at her other friends pleadingly for back up but everyone else seemed to suddenly find the table interesting.

Thankfully, Rachel piped in. "What about that last girl, huh? She looks real cute," nodding her head like a Bobblehead as if her own enthusiasm would magically transfer to her sullen friend.

Santana glared at her as if the girl had grown two heads. Well, who was she kidding. This is Rachel. With the pitch and loudness of her voice, she probably has six other heads under that puke-coloured animal sweater. "She wore a vintage shirt, ripped jeans, and bright-coloured rainbow sneakers," she deadpanned.

Rachel just blinked at her.

"Though you probably won't understand since you still obviously shop at Kidz-R-Us and compared to you, she looked like she's wearing a freaking Oscar de la Renta."

Rachel blinked again.

"Kurt, can you back me up here?"

Kurt finally lifted his gaze from the table hearing the topic has again changed to fashion. "Oh, I hate saying this but I definitely agree with Satan…"

Santana sighed, again.

"Look, gurl, if you don't like the girls that come up to you, why don't you just come up to the girl you like and be done with it?"

Santana shot her attention towards Mercedes, scandalized and deeply troubled with the mere suggestion. "Are you kidding me? Girls can't just come up and flirt with other girls!"

"You mean, girls **can** come up and flirt with you but you **won't** come up and flirt with other girls," Mercedes spoke lowly.

Santana gave her a shrug and a small nod as if she's just starting to make sense.

"And why is that again?" Kurt finally got back to the matter at hand after explaining to Rachel for the thousandth time that what she calls "clothes" are actually "trash."

"Because." Santana searched her brain for the perfect excuse without sounding pathetic. "When I _was_ _straight_, guys always walk up to me. Why wouldn't it be any different now?"

"You were never straight, Santana. You were in the closet. And you're probably partly still in there. Did you get your feet wedged in there somehow?" Rachel asked mockingly looking at Santana's wedge-clad feet imagining a closet somewhere on the floor, earning a laugh from Mercedes and Kurt.

"That's what I meant," Santana glared at Rachel. "And I'm an out and proud lesbian!" Santana defended, narrowing her eyes and daring everyone to say otherwise. "Besides, it doesn't mean anything if I find it funny getting guys riled up sometimes and get their hopes up then watch them lose their balls in the process."

Quinn and Mike had been silent for a while. They can see through Santana's façade, how she's getting more defensive by the minute. They really hope their friends would stop soon or someone would get hurt pretty badly.

But Rachel had other plans. "So, you don't want to walk up to girls because…" Rachel pondered slowly. And then it hit her.

"Is **the** Santana Lopez afraid of getting rejected the same way she rejects other girls?" Rachel asked excitedly, clapping her hands as if it was indeed fun stripping Santana naked for everyone to see. Mercedes and Kurt hollered and hooted finding the image of Santana getting rejected funny.

If the three of them looked more closely they would see what Mike and Quinn saw—the panic and fear in Santana's eyes at being found out of her deepest secret and the hurt for being made fun because of it.

"No!" Santana protested weakly. "Whatever. You don't understand, anyway. You're straight."

Quinn and Mike looked at each other. This is what they meant when they feared _someone_ would get hurt eventually.

xox

* * *

xox

Puck, Sam, Artie, and Tina laughed boisterously as Brittany approached their table.

"Yeah, yeah," Brittany grumbled anticipating the onslaught of jokes coming towards her at her own expense.

"You got shot down!" Puck laughed louder tapping the table for emphasis.

"As if I didn't know already. Thanks for reminding me of something that happened ten seconds ago," Brittany deadpanned.

"Oh man," Artie breathed deeply to contain his laughter. "So, what did you say to her?"

"Ooh, you didn't propose to her or tell her you love her so soon, did you? Because, apparently, girls don't like that," Sam piped in.

"You know what girls don't like? When they always have to do all the work in the bed department," Artie pondered grudgingly.

"You know what girls don't like?" Tina joined in. "Puck," she mouthed to Brittany.

Brittany grinned despite being bummed out by the rejection.

"I didn't know girls don't like it when you do feelings. Because most of the girl trouble I had was because apparently I didn't do feelings," Puck grumbled seriously contemplating whether he had just been tapping in the wrong pool of girls.

"So soon, man," Sam clarified. "Ooh, you know what else girls don't like? When you tell a joke and it's in Na'vi," turning back at Brittany.

"You know waaaayyyy too much about what girls don't like." Tina eyed her friend suspiciously.

He continued, undeterred. "Ooh, and another thing that girls…"

"Sam… Sam, wait!" Brittany cut him out. Normally she wouldn't, but he would keep going until tomorrow and she really wanted to ask their advice on how to re-approach this girl.

Brittany sighed. "That's the point, I didn't say anything!"

"What do you mean you didn't say anything? You must have said _something_," Puck asked incredulously. In all his years knowing Brittany, no one ever turned her down.

Sam nodded his head feeling like Yoda. "I warned you. Girls like _that_? They don't want anything to do with blokes like us."

"I'm not even a bloke!"

"Pssh. Don't worry, B. Sam knows no shit." Puck shook his head at Sam. "What exactly happened?"

"Well, I said 'hi,' I told her my name, that's it!"

"That's it?" Puck confirmed.

"That's it! She didn't even look at me or anything," Brittany grumbled exasperatedly.

"Oh, that rude bitch! That bitch would have a thing or two coming if she thought…" Tina screeched indignantly putting Brittany's arm around her waist as she got up and started walking in the direction of the other group. When she didn't feel the arm tugging her back, Tina squeezed Brittany's hand that was limp around her waist.

Brittany finally caught up and pulled Tina to her side. "Calm down, Tina. I don't want you hurting yourself when you storm off up there tripping over the stairs," she deadpanned.

"Hey, I am not that clumsy!"

Sam chuckled. "But you are! You tripped on a freaking fountain. How did you manage to trip on something as huge as that, seriously?" which earned another bout of laughter from the three boys.

"For the hundredth time…" Tina seethed, starting her long explanation.

Brittany shook her head. Their conversations always managed to end up like this. They'd talk about a movie then how they would want to head to the same location the movie was set in until before they all know it, they are all pondering what the baby would look like if a lizard and a unicorn have sex. It's like their conversations have a multiple-personality disorder or something.

She always liked that about her friends. They are all very easy-going. They had hitchhiked their way to Texas getting odd jobs along the way to add to their pocket money and even managed to save enough for a trip to Vegas right across the west coast—where they won more money for a short trip to Mexico—and they accomplished it in just a year after their high school graduation at McKinley. They could hang out at the dullest ditch in America and they would still end up having the time of their life. They would have a pyjama party right in a crowded diner during lunch hour, even Puck who would grumble along the way, and act as if it's the coolest thing ever.

And it indeed felt like it was the coolest thing.

Until life happened.

They were forced to decide about their future and where to go from there. Tina finally attended college with Artie in LA, with Tina deciding in Poli Sci and Artie majoring in Film. Puck left for Nashville, hoping to become the next Johnny Cash or Jimi Hendrix—and even banging Miley Cyrus on the side. Sam got into OSU but up and left after only two months to follow Puck realizing he had the cooler dream.

And Brittany, well...

Brittany went wherever the road takes her. Armed with a camera on one hand, a pen on the other, and a good steady mind in her head, Brittany became a freelance photo journalist. She never planned for any of it to happen, really. All she wanted was to travel the world, relive the glory days with her best friends and take a piece of a town she stayed in with her when she leaves.

But then, this guy came up to her and saw a picture she had have developed for her wall collage back in Lima and told her she could sell it to some magazine. It was a picture of Puck, Sam, Tina, and Artie in Bay City gazing at the setting sun sheeting the Gulf of Mexico in a nice hue of red and orange.

And since then, she had sold a hundred or more of her artwork, each gaining more value than the one before as she made a small name for herself.

At first, she was just happy to not worry about her week's meal and getting a motel with a working shower head without dipping into her bank account. And then, she was ecstatic she could finally afford some new and additional tools for her craft—a new camera, a sturdy tripod, a telephoto lens for her wildlife adventures, a short-range zoom lens for the intricate details of a hand-woven cloth, even short courses on photography.

She knew she had it made when she got a call from this New York-based photo magazine doing an article on up and coming landscape photographers who wanted to send her to India. All. Expense. Paid. Nothing sounded sweeter to Brittany.

And since then, she's getting calls left and right. The jobs were mostly around the U.S. and Europe but she had time. After all, she's still young at the age of 23. Today, America; tomorrow, the world. She couldn't wait to explore new places, meet new people, and learn new cultures.

She knew if her parents were still here, they would be proud of her too, even if she only finished high school.

They had always pushed her to follow her dreams. Encouraged her to go where her little feet could take her. Climb trees even when she's afraid of falling. Learn and experience new things and conquering them—like riding a bike—even when she gets a gash or two on her knee for it. They had always been there; to pick her up when she falls, to clean and kiss her boo-boos away, to sing her to sleep when she had a nightmare.

And whenever she looks at the moon and gazes at the stars, even when she had no food in her stomach during her first year of traveling alone, she just knew that they are still there watching over her, telling her everything is going to be alright.

Brittany looked back at her family now—her own group of lovable misfits—now bickering over whom amongst them is cool and interesting enough to get to be a reality star. She didn't know how much of the conversation she had missed but what she does know is that now is not the time to be anything but serious.

Brittany looked back up to the VIP section of the club at the raven-haired Latina who was now having a seemingly heated conversation with her friends.

The only downside of being a photojournalist is not getting to stay in one place long enough to make a connection and long lasting relationship with anyone. Sure, she had made lots of friends. Even stayed in contact with most of them. But right now, she badly wanted to know, more than anything, just _this one_ in particular. She sighed. She really needed her friends to focus.

"Guys, guys…" Brittany opened her arms wide side-to-side with palms facing her friends, effectively pushing Tina gently who was leaning over her to literally point out why she and Artie are in fact, cooler than Puck and Sam right to their faces. "Can we do me again, please?"

"Hell yeah, I'd do you," Puck commented sleazily, humping the air from where he sat. "Over and over and…"

The eye-rolls and glares he got from both Brittany and Tina immediately shut him up.

Puck cleared his throat to indicate that he would stop messing around. "What were we talking about again?"

"The girl? Shot down? Me? Ring any bells?"

"Ah, yes," Sam nodded enthusiastically but then he stopped. "And what about it" Sam cowered from the glare Brittany gave him. "…again?" he finished pathetically from his once condescending tone.

"I want to get to know her. That's what this is about."

"So you wanted a do over," Puck confirmed but chuckled a while later just realizing how naughty that phrase sounded. "_Do over._"

Artie scratched his head. "Are you sure?" he asked slowly. "Because there are plenty of guys and girls in here. Most likely less rude and bitchy."

"I know, except. I. Want. _Her_. And besides, I didn't say she was a bitch," Brittany tried defending the girl she doesn't even know from her friends.

"No, I said she was a bitch," Tina raised her hand thinking they were just talking about who said what exactly.

"Y-eah… we really don't know her at all so we might want to hold off a bit on the name calling," Brittany tried again.

Puck nodded resolutely. "Okay. Here's what you're gonna do. You march up to her and grab her tightly into your arms even when she's screaming and struggling and just kiss her deeply giving her no chance to say 'no'."

"Kiss her?" Brittany confirmed.

"Kiss her."

"I'm pretty sure that's sexual harassment…" Tina mused.

"Ooh, ooh, I know," Sam interjected excitedly. "You walk up to her and say _'__Oel ngati kameie. Oeru syaw Pierce. Brittany Pierce. Fyape fko syaw ngar?' _I'm telling you, she would flip!" gesturing wildly and jumping from his seat, almost knocking the beer bottles in front of him.

"Yeah, flip you right side up the head," Tina rolled her eyes. "Just go up to her, Britt. Be charming. Cool. Collected," she smiled encouragingly to her friend.

"But I was charming. Cool. Collected," she deadpanned.

Tina thought it some more before she nodded. "And now, make sure she notices you."

"And whatever you do, do not speak whatever it is _it _was speaking," Artie reminded his friend gesturing at Sam with his face still scrunched in distaste.

"Don't worry, I got that the first time I saw him get slapped for it," Brittany waved him off.

"That was you," Sam grumbled bitterly but Brittany just shrugs him off, already lost in her thoughts as she visualize her objective. Brittany closed her eyes and let out short puffs of breath, psyching herself up. _There's no day like today._ Well, there really isn't in this case, since after today, it would be pretty unlikely she would see her again.

"Hey, I didn't know you're back here! Oh my god, it's been so long! How are you doing?" Tina cut through Brittany's reverie with her squeal.

Brittany's eyes shot back to the Latina's table only to find it empty. _Oh no. _"They-they're gone. Sh-she's gone!" she panicked, searching for the girl in the dark low lights of the club.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm great. I'm based in New York now but I hope to see you before the break is over?"

"Yeah, that would be awesome," Tina grinned widely at the boy not seeing the surly look on Artie's face at their interaction.

"Okay, great then. I'm sorry but I really have to get going. I'm the designated driver and my friends wouldn't be too pleased if they can't get to make a mess of my car soon," the boy laughed.

Brittany grumbled to herself having no luck in finding the other girl in the crowd so she buried her face on the table instead cursing herself for letting the girl slip away from her.

"Michael Chang," Tina flirtingly gave him the once over. "Ever the responsible guy."

Mike laughed bashfully. "That's me. I'm sorry, but I really have to go or else my friend, Santana would either find my head amusing as a centrepiece or flood my car with her tears. I'm really not sure how drunk she is tonight but I wouldn't want to take my chances if I want to see you soon."

Brittany subconsciously heard Tina and her friend's lengthy "goodbyes" and the only thought that stood out amidst her self-pity and deprecation is how 'Santana' is a really, _really _lovely name.

xox

* * *

Translation of Sam's Na'vi talk: "Hey. Name's Pierce. Brittany Pierce. What's yours?" Yeah, if you could imagine a blue James Bond with pointed ears and a tail, that's Sam for you.

A/N #2: Review, follow, favourite or do all three. Let me know what you think!

P.S. Does anyone know how to do a proper line break? I can't seem to make the Shift+Enter command work. I'm either that dumb or mods are having a laugh at me trying and failing to make a proper line break.

P.P.S. Now, **Lolathe17th**, where is my update?


	2. Chapter 2

Title: **This is Not a Love Story**

Pairing: Brittany / Santana

Sub-pairings: Tina/Artie; Quinn/Mike, I really don't care about the others' love-lives, LOL

Rating: T

Summary: Santana Lopez is a high-maintenance girl. Brittany Pierce is an outgoing, go-with-the-flow type of girl. They can never be more different from each other. They say opposites attract. But then again, they say opposites clash as well.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. Thank heavens.

A/N: **Warning: Mild-racism and other political incorrectness. Views of the characters are entirely their own and do not reflect the author's views. At all.**

All mistakes are mine, will proof-read another time, etc.

* * *

**Chapter two**

* * *

xox

"Yo, Britt," Tina called out to her blonde friend as she entered her home uninvited. "Wow, I see you've put up new pictures," she added, highly impressed.

Tina always thought Brittany's house looks more like an art gallery. She had advised her friend many times to just open one up and put them for auction or reproduce and sell them. She's sure that Brittany would make more money that way instead of just waiting for those cheques she receives from time to time. But Brittany always insisted that she liked the field work too much to even think of settling down on one place.

"Hey," Brittany crouched down a bit so her friend can reach her cheek for a kiss, her attention still on the new 12R-sized print she's adding in her collage.

"Where's Oma?"

"At the store," Brittany answered absentmindedly referring to her housekeeper whom she considers family.

When her parents died in a plane crash when she was twelve, Oma is the one who took care of her and loved her like her own. Oma is an old-maiden so like Brittany, she didn't have a family of her own so the bond between them only grew stronger through time, forgetting labels and their supposed role in life. It is partly due to her that Brittany is what she is now as Oma continued to foster the same values her parents find admirable in a person. And for that and more, she's grateful of her and loves her dearly.

When Brittany was happy with the positioning of the print, she turned back to her friend who had already made herself comfortable on the couch with two bottles of water in hand. She immediately jumped next to her and tucked her legs under her as she reached for one of the bottles.

"So, how's the date?" Brittany asked as she sips her water.

"It's not a date but… it's great. _He's_ great as always," Tina blushed demurely.

"I thought you and Artie are…" Brittany eyed her friend.

"Artie and I are friends," Tina finished for her, almost despondently. "You know that, you dated him."

"I did?" Brittany deadpanned but couldn't stop her grin when Tina slapped her arm.

"Yes, you did. Back in high school," Tina laughed. "Anyway, I'm not here about that. I'm here because…" Tina paused for more suspense wanting her friend to beg.

When Brittany just stared at her blankly, she gave in "…you're gonna love me."

"I already do," Brittany winked and smiled cheekily.

Tina blushed despite being used to Brittany and her sweet and charming ways for a long time now. She's still not over how anyone can shoot her friend down, thinking back to two days ago. That girl must have had super powers to be able to resist her charm or just a downright bitch. Now, she's not entirely sure if she should tell Brittany.

"Okay, I realize that I'd probably gonna regret this and hate myself for it but I'm only telling you because I'm really proud of my gossiping skills," Tina warned her. She's pretty well known for it back in high school and now she rarely has the chance to brag about what she knows.

She took Brittany's blank stare as a sign to continue. "Okay, remember Mike?" At her friend's casual nod, she added, "I gave him your number."

Brittany scratched the back of her neck as she eyed her friend curiously. She's pretty sure that Tina is into Mike. "Alright… He's not really my type but sure, I'll go out with him," the blonde clicked her tongue with a half shrug.

Tina's eyes widened, alarmed. "No, no, that's not what I meant," she backtracked as she shook her head adamantly.

The shorter girl sighed. This is not the reaction she was hoping for. At all.

She wanted her friend to… I don't know… say… look at her with admiration and excitement? Probably… I don't know… drop to her knees and beg her for information? Possibly even… maybe… I don't know… bribe her with gifts and her servitude?

Okay, so she had obviously thought about this for a while. Big deal.

She looked at her friend who was still staring at her blankly. Tina shook her head. She probably just needed to change her tactics.

"Okay," she started again more confidently. "Remember the girl from the club?"

Brittany looked at her friend incredulously. "Duh. You of all people _know_ how I get with these sorts of things," Brittany reminded her friend.

Tina smiled mischievously noting the glint in blue eyes when she mentioned the girl. _Finally_. This is going to be fun.

"Well… what if I tell you I know how you could see her again?" Tina smirked, eyes gleaming with mirth.

On cue, Brittany's eyes widened—eyes full of hope and endless possibilities. "H-how?" Brittany shot from her seat to kneel closer to her friend, forcefully grabbing her arms and shaking her wildly.

Tina faked a yawn and disentangled herself from the blonde. "Oh, I'm so tiiiirrred… I think I'm gonna recline here first. Can you move?"

Brittany scratched her head, lost on why her friend is changing the topic. They were just getting to the best part. But she moved nonetheless and hesitantly stood up as she just watched her friend getting comfortable in the couch.

"Oh, and while you're up, can you open your best wine and order pizza? You're paying by the way, but I don't have to tell you that. Oh, also, can you get me a comforter, it's a little chilly in here. And put in…"

"What are you doing?" Brittany finally got her bearings back as she eyed Tina suspiciously.

Tina watched her friend incredulously. "This is how it works. I give you everything you want to know, but you have to give me everything I want first. It's in the ten commandments or something."

"No, it's not."

"Fine. I made that up. But still, you have to do what I say. I promise you it's gonna be worth it."

"Oh. So this is how you want to play, huh?" Brittany nodded her headed and cracked her joints, getting ready for another epic battle of wits.

Tina just grinned smugly, completely satisfied and sure of herself.

"How would I know I could trust you and that you would hold your end of the bargain?" Brittany challenged, tilting her head to the side.

"Because _my Mike_ just so happens to be friends with her." Tina beamed, thinking it wouldn't hurt to give her another hint.

"But you already gave him my number."

"Yeah, so?" Tina asked, missing her point.

"So…" Brittany caught the smaller girl's wrists and dragged her lazy butt off of the couch and plopped herself lengthwise in it instead, resting her head on her hands. "I'll just have to wait for him to text me."

Tina scoffed, rubbing her tailbone where it hit the floor. "Well…" she searched her mind for one last ammunition. "I'll just have to text him to call it off then. Ha!" Tina raised her arm pointing at the blonde in victory.

"Not when I have you phone." Brittany raised her eyebrow, waving a cell phone in her hand.

"How did you… But it's in…" Tina's eyes widened in awe as she searched her pockets in vain. "Oh, you're good," she finally conceded.

"I know." Brittany grinned triumphantly.

"You're no fun," Tina huffed as she slumped dejectedly in one of the armchairs. "So… do you want to know how I knew?"

"Nah, you're just gonna tell me anyway."

"At least, give me something! I'll take anything!" Tina begged.

Brittany chuckled at her friend's desperation. She's really making this hard on her.

"Alright," she conceded. "How about, if we get together, I'm gonna name our first child after you."

"A child? Already?"

Brittany merely shrugged. "Life's short. The first chance I get into her pants, I'm gonna make sure I get her pregnant," she deadpanned.

Tina laughed at her friend's humour. "Alright, I'll take it."

"Nice doing business with you, partner." Brittany reached her hand out and they shook on it.

xox

* * *

"Ugh, I can't believe you are friends with Rachel!" Quinn whined as she went to La Casa Lopez's pool area.

"I can't believe I'm friends with her, either," Santana commented thoughtlessly, as she examined her new nail polish. She is currently reclining in a $5000 intricately woven rattan lounge chair in her black bikini with her personal masseur working on her feet and legs, a help carrying an umbrella for her, and another on standby ready to serve her every whim.

Santana met Rachel in NYADA where both of them are majoring in Performance Arts. Turns out, they are both from Ohio but Rachel went to this thug public high school for the poor called McSomething where they probably learn how to rob banks and beg for money.

At first, they didn't know each other. Well, everybody knew Santana—she is, after all, God's gift to this miserable, _basic_ human race and she just can't help but stand out in whatever she does and doesn't do. But Rachel is what you call, for the lack of a better term, a _loser_. So like the saint that she is, Santana took her under her wing and made her do her term papers for her and carry her books and bag around—it's a win-win.

They only became _sort of_ friends when they were both casted as Anita and Maria, respectively in the contemporary version of West Side Story for one of their class projects in sophomore year. And here they are now, two years later, in their last year of college, about to start to become the world's finest' new performers, with Rachel probably doing Way-Off Broadway stints, living in a dingy apartment with her cats as an old-maid and Santana, never aging a day, starring in The Real Housewives of Ohio or a "leaked" sex scandal—whichever comes first.

Santana can't help it. Rachel grew on her. Whenever she gets sad and lonely, Rachel's mere presence alone reminds her how much _better_ her life is and she almost immediately pops right back up. It also helps that Rachel has a funny face.

"Why, what did she do now?" Santana eyed her bff as she shoo-ed her staff away to their other menial jobs around the mansion.

"Well, Mike and I are casually hanging out at my house, then Rachel video-calls me—you know how she is…" Santana merely nodded, scrunching her face in disgust. Rachel insists on video-calls so people would see the emotions on her face when she talks. Whenever she calls her, Santana puts her on speaker and lays her phone face down so she would be spared from the nightmares.

"And then Mike pops in to say 'hi' and then, she has this _huge_ grin, like she's judging us!" Quinn finished, waving her arms in exasperation.

Santana smirked at her friend. "How was she judging you?" she asked as if she didn't know already.

"Like, I don't know… like we're a couple or something and that we're hiding something… I don't know… It just doesn't make any sense!" Quinn huffed.

"Oh, I think it makes sense," Santana sing-sang teasingly.

Quinn eyed her, not so affably. "Don't tell me you too."

The Latina faked shock and sympathy as she dramatically reached her hand on her chest. "Oh, I am with you. That girl is a complete nutzo. Crazy, crazy girl, that one is! Cc-raaaaaa-zy!"

The blonde continued to eye her friend, waiting for her to continue but the Latina didn't as she resumed her comfortable position on the lounge chair, bringing down her Dior sunglasses to her eyes. Quinn sighed contentedly and settled to her own chair to enjoy the rest of the sun, thinking the conversation is over.

"So have you found out?" Santana broke the silence after a minute.

"Found out what?"

"Mike." Santana simply says, still with a straight face. "Is he or isn't _she_ a lesbian dressing like a man?"

Quinn sighed exasperatedly. "For the millionth time, Santana, you need to stop with the lesbian jokes on him!"

"What?" Santana shrugged nonchalantly. "Who says I'm joking? I'm genuinely curious. I mean, that 'boy' is too _neat_ and proper to be a straight guy. He is obviously not a gay boy since I've caught _her_ staring at my boobs and ass a couple of times so…"

"He _is_ a guy! He has a penis for god sake!"

Santana merely shrugged again. "For all I know _she_ just likes to wear strap ons and socks down there like Brandon Teena. Unless…"

Quinn eyed her friend, irritated. "Unless?"

Santana smirked, getting harder to maintain a straight face. "Unless you're talking from experience," she teased, finally letting out a Cheshire grin.

"I hate you!" Quinn slapped her friend's arm, earning a full fit of giggle from the Latina. "Fine! You know what, I don't know if he's a boy or a girl and I don't care either. Because he and I are just _friends._"

Santana continued to laugh at her friend's defensiveness.

"Besides," Quinn continued in a softer, sadder tone. "He likes someone else. He just went out with this girl named Tina and they're going out again this week."

Santana feigned sympathy, thinking Quinn is being overdramatic. "Aww, is little Quinny jea-wous?" she cooed in her baby-talk voice.

"I am not," Quinn chuckled and shrugged half-heartedly still with a serious, contemplative tone. "They both come from an Asian family so they have a lot in common," Quinn shrugged, almost dejectedly.

Santana bit her lip, knowing they are now in serious territory. Quinn rarely wears her heart on her sleeves—it's one of the things they had in common. She searched her brain for something that could lift her spirits up.

"Hey," Santana brought her finger to her friend's chin, lifting her gaze to meet her genuinely sympathetic brown eyes.

"You, my dear," Santana started. "Are the _most_ Asian girl I ever know."

Quinn chuckled lightly.

But Santana nodded, as if she's letting her take the information in and like she really meant it.

"You love Chinese food, you're in love with an Asian guy, your skin is so pale and yellow like you've been puking your guts out," she listed out, undeterred. "Seriously, if I didn't know your parents, I'd call you Blonde Kung Fu. Honestly, I still think you're adopted, so you might want to look into that. Who knows, maybe you really are Chinese," Santana shrugged, giving her a sympathetic smile.

Quinn smiled at her friend. Even when Santana is being genuinely comforting and nice, she still tends to be racist, inappropriate, and insulting. "Thank you," the blonde said sincerely.

Santana merely sighed dramatically and shook her head from side to side. "Being nice is hard work," she commented, earning a first real laugh from her friend. Her phone suddenly vibrated. "Ooh, speaking of the devil!" Santana grinned mischievously towards the blonde, showing her the name 'Jet Lee' on the screen.

"Hey, Mike. Quinn and I are just talking about you."

The blonde's eyes widened, horrified, mouthing 'don't you dare' to her best friend. But Santana merely turned her back on her.

"Mhm… mhm… Really? Meh, whatever. I don't have anything better to do, anyway. Mhm… mhm… mhm…" Santana spoke nonchalantly to her phone as she examined her nails again. "Alright, bye—or in your language, _sayonara._"

Quinn eyed her friend quizzically, saying "He's not Japanese, you know" in passing, knowing the other girl would simply shrug it off. "So, what was that about?"

Santana merely resumed her comfortable position in the lounge chair, not even looking at Quinn. "I told you he's not into that girl 'China'."

"It's Tina. And how did you know?" Quinn asked feigning nonchalance but her whole face lights up nonetheless.

"Because," Santana deadpanned. "He just asked me out."

Quinn's face dropped and she swears her heart stopped beating. That is, until she hears Santana's evil, _so evil_ laugh.

"You… should… have seen… your face!" Santana breathed through her bouts of laughter as she clutched her stomach fiercely and threw her head back.

"I fucking hate you!" Quinn screamed in anger, her fists clenched tightly at her sides to prevent them from going for Santana's slim and fragile neck. It's really tempting, though. Like, _really_.

"Aww, come on, it's funny!" Santana grinned cheekily at the blonde. When she still didn't smile, Santana gave her the deets. "He knows this girl who he thinks I would like and asked me if he could set me up and I said okay."

Quinn was still staring daggers at her. "I hope she turns out to be a _he_."

Santana just laughed her friend's childishness off. "Oh, come on. You seriously didn't think _I_ would go out with _him_, did you?"

Quinn only scoffed, still irritated with the Latina.

"Unless, of course, _she_ is really a lesbian… Yep, Mike is too pretty for _her_ own good."

Quinn let out a snort despite her resolve to give Santana a hard time in earning her forgiveness. I mean, let's face it, Santana doesn't really know the word 'sorry' and Quinn is still pretending she doesn't have the hots for Mike.

And just like that, all is forgiven.

xox

* * *

A/N #2: I hope you all like this chapter, even if there's no Brittana here yet. Next chapter: the date.

A friendly reminder:

Reviews make a happy author. A happy author makes updates. Updates make a happy reader. A happy reader makes reviews. And the cycle continues. What I want to say is, I hope you are all happy with this chapter. :)


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